


I Got a Man Who Makes Me Want to Kill

by amurderof



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-09
Updated: 2010-08-09
Packaged: 2017-10-11 00:29:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/106244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amurderof/pseuds/amurderof
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Would they be great adventures?" Ukoku asks, his own voice low, seeping into the dark around them. Yes, he decides. Even after all of this, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Got a Man Who Makes Me Want to Kill

"Do you remember..." Koumyou breaks the silence that has settled comfortably between them, an expression that is not a smile but also _is_ shaping his mouth. Ukoku is fond of that mouth, of the way it curves around words -- how it rounds around the end of Koumyou's pipe.

Ukoku looks at the whole of Koumyou's face, and the man is watching him expectantly. Oh. "Repeat that, for an old man?"

Koumyou breathes out laughter, and his eyes close as he repeats himself. "The youkai, that group. The ones who came from the --"

"I remember wondering what would have become of you had I not been there, you fool," Ukoku interrupts, and he imagines what it must have been like, the very scene -- Koumyou's head lolling on the mat, the white of his robe forever stained. "You trust far too easily."

"Yes, yes I do," Koumyou concedes, and he touches his hand to the base of Ukoku's skull, slips his fingers into the short strands of hair at Ukoku's neck.

Heat settles heavily in Ukoku's stomach, but he won't suggest that they retire to Koumyou's rooms yet; the night is not young, but the moon is full and it paints Koumyou's skin the color of porcelain.

"You are leaving tomorrow?" Koumyou asks, and Ukoku nods shortly; Koumyou's fingers have tangled in Ukoku's hair and he likes the sharp sting on his scalp.

"The unrest," he says, and Koumyou knows. The damned youkai in the West who feel it is within their power to capture the sutras and bend them to their will. Ukoku finds the very idea of it endearing now, in an ultimately pathetic sort of way. They will come and try to gain possesion of the sutras, and while Koumyou would leave his fate up to chance -- though he'd call it something noble, turn it into some kind of lesson, _Ukoku, consider the moon glowing on the far side of that tree..._ Ukoku knows _he_ will eviscerate them.

There is another feeling then, as though a weight has settled behind his sternum, and he swallows several times in an effort to dislodge it. It mixes uncomfortably with the arousal and leaves him hungry, willing to forego the moon and invite himself into Koumyou's bed.

"Are you meant to do something about it?" Koumyou asks, and with his free hand he raises his cup of sake to his lips. His eyes, heavy-lidded, keep themselves fixed on Ukoku's face.

Ukoku smiles, lazily, pushes the emotions away with the skill awarded to him from years of practice. "I doubt I would be assigned such an important task as subduing a dozen rogue youkai." He does not say that the Santsubushin would never and had never called upon him for anything, once because of his heretical status and now -- and also because it is a blessing to have no "omnipotent" overseer breathing down your neck, and Koumyou understands this. He smiles at Koumyou, teases, "But if I find them interesting..."

What he wants Koumyou to say is a complaint about his wandering eye, or a lament that alas! he would be abandoned so quickly for winding tattoos and a pair of long ears; but Koumyou says nothing of the sort, merely smiles into his cup.

"I wish you the best," is what he does say when he breaks the quiet, and Ukoku does not laugh at him, but it is a close thing.

"I could stay longer," Ukoku says, because he thinks sometimes that Koumyou will say yes, even when they both know that the walls of the monastery would bear down upon him. It's an expectation that will never come to fruition, and regardless of what Ukoku imagines he wants, it is not to be confined within a place of rules and schedules, not again, regardless of Koumyou's presence.

"Or I could travel with you again," Koumyou says, and he laughs low in his throat. The ache that has certainly settled in the small of his back, the silver that mixes so subtly with the pale straw of his hair -- the tease is apparent even without Koumyou's light tone. They could travel, but it would never be anything like an "again". The days spent climbing that closest mountain because Koumyou wanted to see the view of the river from the top; and in the night, after the mayor had tried to ply them with his (admittedly lovely) daughters, and they had begged off only to laugh in bed later -- there were certain things that would not come so easily to older men. And yet, because of the tension resting just behind his sternum, Ukoku thinks...

"Would they be great adventures?" Ukoku asks, his own voice low, seeping into the dark around them. Yes, he decides. Even after all of this, of course.

Koumyou breathes in the cooling night air, and exhales, "No.

"They would be journeys."

Ukoku snorts a laugh and reaches back for Koumyou's hand, unwinds it from his hair, rises.

"Oh," Koumyou says, not at all surprised. "Are you tired already?"

Ukoku laughs, and pulls Koumyou to his feet.

 

Koumyou laughs, not at him but -- but maybe a little. But he laughs, and he touches Ukoku's cheek, and Ukoku laughs too, turns his head and kisses Koumyou's fingers, nips at the skin bunched at the knuckles.

It is easy to laugh with Koumyou close, around him -- when Koumyou thinks the faces he makes as he's about come are funny, endearing. From anyone else it would be an insult, but Koumyou is Koumyou. And Koumyou's eyes slip shut, then open the merest slit as he himself comes, his lips curving around wordless gasps, "oh, oh, oh". And _that_, Koumyou arching under him because he had said he was too tired to make the effort required to be on top, and it was time Ukoku worked for it... Ukoku did not say that Koumyou was always too lazy to press him into the mattress, but it is not something he plans to protest too loudly.

 

Ukoku flops onto the mattress next to the other man and tugs at him. Koumyou moves easily enough, mumbling about how disrespectful it is to pull one's elder around like a doll; and Ukoku covers himself with Koumyou, and smiles at how Koumyou's hair falls around both of their heads and tickles the sides of Ukoku's face.

"If you're leaving, you should sleep. You could be waylaid by scoundrels and you would fall asleep in the middle of reasoning with them." Koumyou's face is serious, as though this is truly a worry, as though Ukoku would pause to reason with them.

"Let's do it again," is Ukoku's response, and Koumyou's laugh is exasperated, warm.

"You are young," he says, and Ukoku pulls him down, pulls their mouths together.

He manages to convince Koumyou -- is it really convincing? -- with a slow blowjob that quells even Koumyou's protestations of the limitations of an old man, and by preparing himself and slicking Koumyou's cock while Koumyou lies back on the bed, apparently taking in the view.

"This," Ukoku breathes against Koumyou's neck, as he straddles Koumyou's waist and curls forward, "this is worth it."

He does not mean to say it -- and that is always the danger, this inability to think, concentrate -- but Koumyou seems to understand, _gets it_ in the way that only he ever has, and when Ukoku comes and Koumyou pulls him down to kiss him -- this, _this_.

 

It is after, when they are lying next to each other and Ukoku is memorizing the slight curve of Koumyou's hip, the mess his hair has become against the pillows, that Koumyou speaks quietly, in a voice that would drive Ukoku to further sex acts were he a younger man. Instead he loops an arm around Koumyou's waist and closes his eyes.

"I do not want you to think that this is not enough," Koumyou says, and Ukoku frowns, eyes still shut. "But sometimes I feel as though something... as though I am missing a part..."

Ukoku opens his eyes at the same time that his throat goes dry. He searches Koumyou's face, his look of concentration -- spares a glance for the palm Koumyou is pressing against his own chest, his sternum. Ukoku covers Koumyou's hand with his own, presses as well. Something unpleasant is resting heavily in Ukoku's own chest, and it is only because of Koumyou that he knows what it is called -- that he is jealous.

Jealousy.

He tightens his fingers around Koumyou's hand. He opens his mouth to speak and Koumyou cuts him off. "You are in a large part, have filled much and brought much."

Ukoku knows that there is a "but" even without Koumyou saying it. He knows it more than he knows anything else he has learned in his years. But Koumyou is solemn, thoughtful, and ideas to draw Koumyou away from his thoughts fill Ukoku's mind; and an angry, desperate _no_ is starting in his head, is hurtling itself about, and is close to Ukoku's tongue when Koumyou speaks again:

"I think I would have liked to raise a ward, a disciple. Someone to train."

"You have me for that," Ukoku snaps, and he sees the results of Koumyou's having a disciple -- sees Koumyou's battered body. Of course the brat had merely left it, had run for his life and in his terror. Ukoku had been able to use that against him later -- his penchant for running. He was easy to predict.

Koumyou smiles, closes his eyes. "I do enjoy it when you call me 'master'," he says, and Ukoku barks out a laugh, holds Koumyou close to him. Lets the tightness in his chest dissipate.

 

They wake in the morning, early -- not long enough after they fell asleep -- because an acolyte, who has the good grace not to act scandalized any more than his blush and slight stutter indicate, rushes into Koumyou's room.

Koumyou has a strange expression on his face, even as he's blinking away sleep; and Ukoku touches his cheek, coaxes him to remain in bed, that he'll see to whatever's frightened the little boys of the monastery. It is only due to his lack of sleep that Koumyou lets him, that he ignores his own promptings and lies back.

Ukoku dresses quickly in his disheveled robes, his heart beating excitedly in his chest. He doesn't bother with all of the accoutrement but he picks up his sutra, set for the night next to Koumyou's on the dresser, and follows the acolyte with increasing expectation, confusion -- of course it isn't unheard of for women to abandon children they cannot care for at monasteries, hoping that the gods will provide what they are unable to...

And so when Ukoku is led to a little boy surrounded by the more excitable monks, he laughs. He laughs, because it is so perfect, so inspired and it must be an act of the gods. He says this to the monks and they all nod eagerly, for while they hate him, they respect the power that he wields.

He moves in the midst of them, puts a hand on the little boy's head; and the boy swivels towards him, looks at him with large violet eyes, and Ukoku laughs. He laughs, and he ruffles the boy's hair and tells the monks that it's all right, that he knows this boy, that he can take him back to his mother.

"She will be missing him," he says, and even the most excitable monk wanders off to resume praying or sweeping or whatever it is they occupy their time with.

He takes the boy by the hand -- the brat reacts violently, hitting him with his fist, but Ukoku is far older than he. A few punches with a small fist won't hurt him. It's funny, actually. Ukoku can't stop himself from laughing the entire time he takes the boy out of and away from the monastery. The boy struggles and shouts at him, and eventually falls over, a dead weight. Ukoku walks, drags him easily, and the boy curses -- such words for such a small body -- and eventually gets back to his feet to avoid the larger rocks on the road.

Ukoku walks for a long way, until he is unsure of where they are, save for west of the monastery. The boy has long ceased struggling, but he glares as though it will make a difference.

When Ukoku stops, the boy tries to make a break for it, and Ukoku grabs him by the front of his worn shirt, lifts him up to eye level. The boy's legs kick the air, try to reach Ukoku's chest and stomach.

"You aren't supposed to exist," Ukoku says, and he is surprised at how easily he is able to say it. He expects fear in the brat's eyes, but all he gets is indignation, the little bastard. "How do you explain that?"

The boy doesn't explain anything, just wriggles and twists. He lands a kick on one of Ukoku's arms, and Ukoku pulls the brat close, says to him, "They won't let me be rid of you, will they?"

"What the hell's your problem?" the brat says, and the look on his face is one Ukoku knows, that he has not seen in years but is so used to seeing that he remembers what word is used to describe what he is feeling now. The pounding of his heart, the tightness behind is eyes -- this is not jealousy.

"Do you know what became of them?" he says, and he is aware that it is petty and he does not _care_. "The sin is long dead, having picked something up on the side of the road that he could not handle; the murderer found out that he could, in fact, hang himself with his own vines; and the monkey remains locked away, waiting for you, wanting you to let him go. He thinks you've abandoned him, left him forever to be by himself."

The boy clearly doesn't understand, but it's all right. The fear he showed as a man, the terror etched into his face when Ukoku told him exactly what would become of them -- and the boy says, then, with a look of complete calm, "You won't win," and Ukoku tenses all over and the boy's head does not... explode, per se. But it is as though something inside his skull quickly became too big for the bone, and it was stronger than the bone, and the bone broke and let itself be pushed aside to make way.

Brain matter, Ukoku thinks, is remarkably dense. It is something one would never consider, looking at it. It squishes, yes, and it has always made Ukoku think of congealed things -- but it gives one a satisfying, congratulatory feeling that smashing, say, a plate of gelatin never would.

He lets the brat fall to the ground and sighs at the mess he's made of himself. There will be no end to the rumors if he returns like this, with blood all over his hands and -- he touches his jaw, licks his lips -- all over his face. It's truly a marvel of biology that small bodies can hold so much blood.

He can return to the monastery, skirt the perimeter until he reaches the outlying yard where he knows the acolytes hang their laundry to dry. His robes differ little from theirs. It would be easy enough to change, at this hour, with little inference. The exchange would be worth it simply for the reaction of whoever was in charge of bringing in the laundry for the day... aah, aah, master, something is all over this robe!

Ukoku laughs. There are questions unanswered that he will dwell upon later, that he will lay out in front of himself and dissect -- but if the gods wish to make their will known in such a manner, he will deal with it as he does. He starts back to the monastery, and he knows that he responded foolishly to the brat, let a strange temper overtake him; but he will not do so in the future. In the future, he will be prepared.

But now he will wash his face and hands before returning to Koumyou's bed, where Koumyou will welcome him.


End file.
